


Invitation

by queerwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been cordially invited to a seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> So. [Someone asked Neil Gaiman how one should seduce a writer.](http://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/18932682858/as-requested-by-too-many-people-making-the-last-post) And then this happened. I'm sorry. Please, someone else feel free to write a better, sexier version of this.

There was a sleek black envelope lying in wait on the kitchen table. John had found it leaned up against the kettle that morning. He continued to stare at it as he drank his tea. It could be from nearly anyone. But it didn’t have a return address, so it must have been hand-delivered. Also - he would have assumed it was for Sherlock - except the envelope had his name on it in fancy gold script.

Eventually, halfway through his second cup of tea, John stopped staring at the envelope as though he could see through it, and actually opened it. Inside was what appeared to be... an invitation.

_You are invited to a seduction._

There was more, but John immediately took a moment to swallow, sputter a little, and put down his mug. He supposed this was one way to go about it.

_Please come to dinner on Friday night. Wear the kind of clothes you would like to be seduced in._

He had no idea who could have dropped off something this fancy and yet wanted to seduce him. He couldn’t think of any wealthy women he knew, really. He squinted at the card, searching for some sign of who it could be from. Then, two little initials and a dash in the bottom right hand corner on the front caught his eye.

_-SH_

For a moment, John stopped breathing. Of course. Who else knew he headed straight for the kettle? Who else would invite someone to a seduction?

The only thing he couldn’t figure out was what he was missing. Clearly seduction didn’t mean... well... _seduction._

This was some sort of experiment - he was videotaping John’s reaction, or he wanted to see if John actually showed up or not. It all had to do with some case Sherlock just hadn’t told him about yet. Obviously. Because there was no way that if John came to the flat for dinner on Friday that Sherlock was actually going to attempt to seduce him. He shook his head and determinedly finished his now lukewarm tea. He left the open envelope on the table and picked up the invitation. As he did, he noticed some writing on the back.

_If you do not wish to be seduced, simply do not attend, and all of this will be deleted._

John frowned down at the invitation as though it would elaborate. It didn’t. He sighed, pocketed it, and went about getting ready for a day at the surgery. Sherlock was nowhere to be found - which didn’t surprise him.

It was only when he had reached the surgery and gone through several patients that he realized it was Thursday. He had today to figure out whether or not he wanted to attend this... seduction purely out of curiosity’s sake, or if he really did want to forget the whole thing. He spent most of the day thoroughly distracted, and he was glad that he got off early that day.

When he got home, Sherlock still didn’t seem to be there - if he was, he was in his room, and John didn’t really want to risk going in there. Well, part of him didn’t. Part of him wanted to find Sherlock and demand he explain this whole damn thing - what right he had to drive John even further insane by making him wonder if Sherlock was serious in the first place, and if he was, did he even want to attend?

Christ. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Of course he was... drawn to Sherlock in some way. It was like he had his own magnetic field or something... He was brilliant, of course, and not even John could deny that he was gorgeous. That wasn’t really up for any debate. Whether he was fond of admitting it or not, Sherlock was obviously the most important person in his life. But this... This was something different. The term seduction... implied things. Things he wasn’t even sure Sherlock was interested in.

Things he hadn’t been sure he’d been interested in having with Sherlock until he received that bloody invitation, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had... noticed things before. But he’d never dwelled on those things quite like he had in the past 12 hours or so.

It was, with that, that he realized that whatever happened, if it was experiment or not - he really ought to go. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been capable of saying no in the first place, really.

So, when he headed out for work, he took a nice outfit - a button down, a jacket, and some good trousers - and tried not to think about what may or may not be happening right after he got done at the surgery.

Again, the day passed in a blur. It didn’t seem like long at all before he’d found himself at the doorstep of 221B, dressed for dinner. As soon as he opened the door, he could hear Sherlock playing the violin - he wasn’t certain of what it was, but it sounded nice. He’d grown used to hearing classical music on a regular basis, even if he couldn’t tell most of it apart.

He skipped the squeaky stairs on the way up in the hopes that maybe Sherlock would be engrossed in his playing and wouldn’t realize John was coming. Somehow, that was exactly what happened. John stood in the doorway - Sherlock was facing the window, where the curtains hung down, playing. He eyes were closed.

The flat looked the same as it always did. Sherlock had on a nice jacket and shirt and pair of trousers - but he always did. It didn’t seem like anything was going to be different tonight than it usually was. It had been an experiment, then.

Promptly, John looked down at himself and felt like an idiot. He cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously, getting Sherlock’s attention.

“Oh. You came.”

John nodded, but remained standing awkwardly. “Um. Yes. I did.”

“I didn’t expect you to come. In fact, I calculated an 85% chance that you wouldn’t. For a variety of reasons.”

“So... it was... an experiment, then?” Calculated chances, after all, didn’t seem very much like a preface to any sort of romantic evening.

Sherlock ignored John, putting down his violin, and turning his back again. “I also calculated a 1% you would come just to punch me, a 4% chance that you came to tell me it wasn’t good, and a 5% chance you came just out of curiosity, as if to see whether or not it was an experiment.”

He swallowed. That sounded as if... “And - ah.” He double-checked the math in his head. “Where are the other 5%?”

“Irrelevant, if any of those reasons are accurate. I am, after all, rather certain that they are.”

Well. This was it, then. “Well. There’s... um. Always something, isn’t there?”

He watched as Sherlock turned, blinking. “I’m wrong?”

“At the moment, yes. The other 5%?”

“Well... a 2.5% chance that you understood my invitation and came to reject me as kindly as possible, and a 2.5% chance that you came to accept my invitation.”

A smile quirked the edge of John’s mouth. “Sherlock, I hardly think I’d dress up this nicely to reject you, kindly or not.”

He blinked again. “Oh. That is... unexpected.”

“I’d say. 2.5%? Really? I mean, I guess you haven’t really been around the past couple of days, but... Honestly, you must have realized by now how terrible I am at saying no to you.”

“You’ve said no to a great number of my suggestions.”

John smiled fully, now. “Right. But have I ever actually tried to stop you? I let you keep a head in our fridge. I just told you to designate a separate section for experiments.”

“You continually stated that you were heterosexual, I can hardly be faulted for-”

“I said I wasn’t gay. And I’m not.”

At this, Sherlock seemed a bit speechless. John hadn’t even been sure that was possible until just then. “Oh. Well that... I don’t actually have any dinner.”

He couldn’t help it - he laughed. “You would invite me to dinner and not have any food. Do you want to go out to Angelo’s? He’d be happy to provide us with another romantic candle, I’m sure.”

“...I’d much rather stay in. If you don’t mind. We can order Chinese. I’ll pay. I do have wine - the advice I read -”

“Is that why I was invited?”

A hint of color reached Sherlock’s cheeks, and he turned to busy himself with finding the take out menu. “It advised that one invite a writer to a seduction and also provide alcohol. And kissing.”

“Whose advice was this? Also - a writer?”

“You _are_ my blogger. And it was the advice of another writer - you know I’m not very attentive to non-academic literature, but it was all sent to me by a rather enthusiastic fan of your blog.”

John laughed again. “Well, for once, I’m glad. Do you want me to order the Chinese? You can open the wine, and -”

“Would you object at all to the kissing?”

He felt himself flush, then. “Er - no. Now?”

“I feel like it is... Perhaps the last opportunity for either of us to object.”

He swallowed, then shrugged, and suddenly Sherlock had crossed the room and was cupping John’s face in both of his hands. “I apologize if I am... inadequate in some way. It’s been some time.”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

And so their lips were pressed together. John realized, perhaps belatedly, that he hadn’t exactly been prepared for how wonderful it would feel just to have Sherlock this close to him - well, close to him without spinning him around and demanding he remember something, and not trying to pull a bomb off of him.

Either way, as he rested his hands at Sherlock’s waist, he noted that Sherlock was anything but inadequate at kissing. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He was good at anything when he actually made an attempt. Warmth was quickly spreading through his body as the kiss deepened - Sherlock seemed more possessive now, which didn’t really surprise him. He coaxed John’s tongue into his mouth and sucked at it a little.

In spite of how odd it was kissing someone taller then him - being kissed, really - it was also one of the best kisses he’d ever received, and he was sort of glad that there was still space between their bodies.

Slowly, the pace of the kiss ebbed a little, and Sherlock pulled away. He was flushed, his lips red and a little kiss-swollen, and it made John want to pull him back in and kiss him some more - get a chance to finally press his lips to that completely unfair neck. Still, he stopped himself, and smiled.

“I’ve definitely not got any objections. That was fantastic.”

Sherlock smirked a little. “Excellent. Do I need to continue with the food and wine?”

“Not really that hungry. I imagine you aren’t either?”

“Of course not. I’d say that was successful, then, wouldn’t you? Are you seduced?”

He smiled. “Yes, Sherlock. I’d say so.”

“Extremely successful, then. Much more successful than I had hoped. I’m glad.”

“So... we’re - uh - dating now?”

“Of course. That was precisely the point, wasn’t it? Now you’ve got something else to distract me with when I’m bored and we’re both considerably happier. All very logical, even if there is some sentiment involved.”

John shook his head and laughed. “Right, yes. I should have known you’d have logical reasoning. Did you make a list?”

Sherlock only gave him a look, and he laughed a bit more.

“Don’t know why I asked. So, what now?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock sat down on the couch. “I don’t have much experience in this area. Do you have any suggestions, John?”

Tilting his head, he considered the options. “Well - erm. Would you be opposed to... I dunno. Having a cuddle while we watch telly or something?”

It seemed awkward, almost, the idea of cuddling with Sherlock. But, well, John was also a bit curious about the whole thing.

“I would not... be opposed, no.”

John smiled a little and sat down on the other end of the couch - soon Sherlock’s head was in his lap.

“Is this... right?”

He knew it must have been killing Sherlock to not know exactly what he was doing. He placed a hand in Sherlock’s hair, letting the soft curls slide through his fingers. “Yes, yes, that’s fine.”

John turned on the telly and sat there, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as he listened to the criticism of every show he tried to watch. It was almost just like any other night. Except it wasn’t.


End file.
